My mother recently made a donation to my Pan Mass Challenge ride. Since she and Dad had already made a very generous donation, I asked why. She said it was in honor of her recently deceased classmate, Barbara Schmitz of Jefferson City, Missouri.

Barbara passed away on May 8, 2014, another beautiful soul claimed by cancer.

Her obituary was a touching tribute to her life, her devotion to God, family and friends. Yet one thing jumped out at me. Barbara was affectionately known as The Card Lady.

Without knowing her or having it explained, I knew exactly what that meant. She was the type of person who never missed the opportunity to send a card to cheer a friend or family up. I’m guessing the Card Lady never missed sending a birthday card either.

I think every family has or should have a card person. We have one in our family. Aunt Peggy. At our house, your birthday celebration can’t begin until you receive your card from Aunt Peggy. There’s no money, gift card or anything of monetary value in the card. Just love. It’s always on time and it’s priceless.

Aunt Peggy lost both her husband and son to cancer.

Card ladies (gentlemen) are some of the sweetest, most beautiful people the Creator put on this earth.

Cancer doesn’t care.

If there’s somebody you lost to this insidious disease, there are few better ways to honor them than a donation to Pan Mass Challenge. One hundred percent of donations generated by riders go to Dana Farber/Jimmy Fund. That’s right, 100 percent!

Card ladies cannot be replaced. Yet their spirit inspires others to carry on that tradition.

We’re lucky in my family. My nephew is engaged to a girl who has that spirit, that caring. Though not officially in the family, she never misses a birthday. No one will ever replace my mother’s friend Barbara or Aunt Peggy (and we pray that’s a long time down the road). But life is so much nicer with a Card Lady in it.

My grandfather died of cancer of the larynx in 1953, 11 years before I was born. My father was 17 at the time. His mother died five years before that.

Cancer robbed me of more than a grandparent. It robbed me of my family history.

What my father went through as a teenager I simply cannot fathom. He survived it, and thrived, graduating from Brown University and starting a career as an engineer. When we moved to Massachusetts, we were fairly close to his relatives in Rhode Island. Yet since my father was an only child, we never quite knew how we were related to anybody.

Understandably, Dad’s defense mechanism as a teenager and young man was not to dwell on what he could not control. His parents were gone. He moved on and built his own life. Yet talking about his own life and family, particularly those he left back in Italy, did not come easy. In fact, unless you asked him, he really didn’t talk about it.

It wasn’t until years later, when he had grandchildren in grade school, that he began to talk and volunteer information about our family history. Thank goodness for all those teachers who assigned their students the task of interviewing somebody from another country. So, now I know a little more, but the writer in me would have loved to have known so much sooner.

Cancer stole a grandfather from me that I never knew. Yet it stole from my father his youth. And for me, it delayed me learning about the incredible family I come from.

I’m riding in the Pan Mass Challenge for all the grandsons and granddaughters who never got to meet their grandparents. That could have been my daughter. It was years before she was born that Dad was diagnosed with prostate cancer. Yet because of advances and technology and regular examinations on his part, the cancer was removed without radiation. My daughter has met and knows her grandfather and she knows his story. At 8 and with Dad still going strong, it’s safe to say she will remember him for the rest of her life.

Children deserve to know their grandparents. If you agree, please help me help that happen by donating to the Pan Mass Challenge. 100 percent of rider donations go to the Dana Farber/Jimmy Fund. You can make a difference.

My father had a habit of saying, “I ran into a teammate of yours” and made me guess who. I never quite understood why he didn’t just say who he ran into. Was it a Mr. Miyagi thing where he was teaching me something? I didn’t think so at the time. Now, I’m not so sure.

I was recently on Facebook when I read a post about the brother of a former teammate of mine. He had died of cancer. I didn’t really know him all that well. He was a quiet guy, who was about three or four years older than me. His brother Dan was my teammate and the news of his brother’s passing hit me like a ton of bricks.

Was it the shock of somebody being cut down in their relative prime by the insidious disease of cancer? Maybe. Was it because I knew how close Dan was to his brother based nothing on nothing more than my observations in high school and Dan’s Facebook posts. Perhaps.

Yet what I kept coming back to was one simple thought: Dan was my teammate and my teammate was now hurting.

That might sound a bit strange considering I really haven’t seen Dan that much since high school, with the exception of a reunion basketball game a few years ago. Yet what that game taught me was that the people who I called teammates have a special place in my heart. Always have and always will, no matter what the frequency of contact over the years.

Maybe that’s what Dad was trying to teach me. That that the people who I played sports with have a special place in my life. You didn’t necessarily have to be best of friends. But sharing a common goal gave us a bond that would last forever. As I have found with so many things, Dad was right.

So, I’m hurting for my teammate. And I have added his brother Robert as one more person who will join me on the Pan Mass Challenge in August.

I don’t know when the evil of cancer will stop claiming the lives of those we love. But I do know that only together, as teammates, can we beat it. And that happens one dollar at a time.

If you would like to be part of that team, please go to my Pan Mass Challenge page. Every cent is appreciated and a smile is guaranteed with your donation.